swung himself out of bed, followed her into the bathroom, putting his hand into the water to check the temperature. ‘It’s the thought that counts.’
‘Is that right?’
‘You can even bring those horrible wind chimes with the tubes like a church organ.’ Then he said, ‘Move over. Or had you forgotten about the water-saving campaign you’re running in the paper?’ This was no way to get home before dawn, Willow thought. But she moved over, hoping to avoid too much tempting physical contact. ‘What more can I say?’ Mike asked, squeezing some gel into his palm, smoothing it over her back. A whole lot more, she thought, as his hands sapped her will to the point that she had to bite back a groan of pure pleasure. ‘Bring everything. Move in here with me.’ She held her breath, waiting, but he’d apparently finished. That was it.
She took a slightly shaky breath, turned to face him. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
He grinned. ‘Because I’m irresistible? Because you hate driving home in the middle of the night, and you’re too kind, too tender-hearted to get me out of bed to drive you myself?’
The water was slicking his skin, heating her up. ‘You’ve got that right.’
‘Come on. It’ll be fun. We can do this all the time.’ And he gathered her close, the water cascading over them as he kissed her in a prelude to showing her exactly how much fun it would be.
He was right. He was irresistible. But on this subject she was unshakeable. When he lifted his head, waggled his eyebrows at her, apparently in no doubt as to her answer, she simply sighed and reached for a towel. He wasn’t going to allow her to change the subject, not without some explanation. It was time to explain her philosophy on the ‘living together’ issue.
‘Hey,’ he complained as she stepped out of the shower stall. ‘When I said we should save water, I wasn’t thinking drought conditions…’
‘Mike, listen to me.’ The tone of her voice finally got through and the grin slipped from his face. He turned off the water, listening. It would help if he wrapped a towel round his waist… ‘Darling, you’ve met my cousin—’
‘Crysse? Nice girl. Not a patch on you, but—’
‘And you know that Crysse lives with her boyfriend, Sean.’
‘People do that these days,’ he said, his hands on her shoulders, serious now. Concentration was getting harder by the minute. ‘Move in with me. I promise you, no one is going to throw stones at you in the street…’ And he kissed her again, moving her gently, but inexorably back towards the bed. It would be so easy to say yes. She wanted to say yes…
Mike’s grin was firmly back in place, his grey eyes gleaming with the prospect of success. He clearly thought his case unanswerable.
‘No! Listen!’ She dug in her heels. Literally and metaphorically. ‘Before they lived together, Sean used to take Crysse out all the time. Make a real fuss of her. Every Friday night they went to the cinema, or the theatre. On Saturday they’d go out for the day, or have a meal out at a nice restaurant. On Sunday, he cooked her breakfast and brought it to her in bed. They stayed there most of the day and talked about what they’d do when they were married. How many kids they’d have. Dreaming, you know?’
‘Isn’t that what we do?’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe we haven’t got around to discussing the number of off-spring, but breakfast in bed is a good start. I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow—’
‘Then he suggested they move in together.’
‘Do it tomorrow. I’ll make you breakfast in bed for the rest of your life.’
‘That’s what Sean said. Crysse was so excited. She sold her flat, redecorated his…’
‘I’m beginning to get the uneasy feeling that this story doesn’t have a happy ending.’
‘That depends on your point of view,’ she said. ‘Sean’s happy. He goes out with his mates on Friday while Crysse, after a hard week attempting to drill the rudiments of mathematics into thirty twelve-year olds, cleans the flat they “share”.’ She made little quote marks to indicate her doubts about the sharing part. ‘These days the highlight of Saturday is a trip to the supermarket while he plays football, or cricket, or whatever other macho pursuit happens to be in season. And on Sunday she takes him breakfast in bed, where he stays until lunch-time to recover from his exertions on the sports field.’
‘And Crysse?’
‘Crysse gets on with the ironing. His as well as hers.’
‘She should take a break for a while. Let him see what he’s missing. She could move into your flat—’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Mike. What happens is that, while Crysse is proving that she’s indispensable to Sean’s well-being, some other girl comes along and sees this poor suffering man with no one to iron his shirts for him. It’s practically irresistible and she’ll come over all motherly. She’ll cook and iron and this time, having learned his lesson, Sean will fall over himself to make it permanent.’
He looked at her for a moment, and there was no trace of a smile as he absorbed the message. ‘I take it that’s a definite no, then?’
‘It’s nothing personal. If I was the moving-in kind of girl, there’s no one I’d rather move in with than you. But I like my life—’
‘And if I make it personal?’
‘Please, Mike.’ She made a move to collect her clothes, but he blocked her way. ‘It’s late.’
He remained very still. ‘And if I make it personal?’ he repeated.
The mood in the flat had changed. Suddenly it was far too intense and Willow felt as if she was balancing on the edge of a precipice that five minutes ago hadn’t existed. Her heart flared in panic, she didn’t want to lose Mike. She loved him. But before she surrendered the life she had, a life she enjoyed, she had to know he loved her, too. Loved her enough to make a total commitment. No compromise.
‘Move in or we break up?’ she asked. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, angel.’ He reached out, cradled her cheek for a moment, then raked his fingers through her short dark curls, holding them back from her forehead so that her face was entirely revealed. ‘What I’m saying… What I’m asking…’ He seemed to hesitate, consider his words carefully. ‘I want you to live with me, Willow Blake. To have you beside me every morning when I wake. To hold you every night as I fall asleep. I guess what I’m saying is, I’m not prepared to risk making Sean’s mistake with you. So, how soon can we get married?’
‘I NEED an answer today, Miss Blake, or I can’t guarantee—’
‘You’ll have one!’ Willow rang off, then instantly regretted her short temper. It wasn’t the builder’s fault that she couldn’t make up her mind about the cupboards for her new kitchen. That she didn’t care a fig for her new kitchen. It was the kitchen out of her worst nightmares, one in which she would be expected to cook three meals a day. Just like her mother…
